


Snowfall

by lonelywalker



Category: Le Pacte des Loups | Brotherhood of the Wolf (2001)
Genre: Historical, Interracial Relationship, M/M, Yuletide 2008
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-19
Updated: 2011-04-19
Packaged: 2017-10-18 09:28:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/187437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelywalker/pseuds/lonelywalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a Parisian winter, Fronsac and Mani have a friendly little fireside dispute.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snowfall

Paris has seen blizzards this year, with a speed and edge to them almost the match of those Fronsac had experienced in the colonies. Attempting to commit their ferocity - the sheer physical _pain_ of the wind and sleet cutting into even the numbest human skin - to paper had been an impossibility. But now even the most genteel ladies at court, ushered around the streets in protected carriages, know the touch of that keen frost.

Fronsac would have been content enough to remain indoors, to monitor the depth of the snow, and the frantic comings-and-goings of courtiers and messenger boys, skidding around with yelps of surprise and panic on icy streets. But Mani, ever oblivious to foul weather and oppressive conditions, had convinced him to venture forth, cloak buttoned up above his nostrils, hat jammed far enough down on his head to almost completely mask his vision. While Mani scarcely left footprints, Fronsac, following, seemed to either slip, or plod around like a clay giant, too cautious of his own pride to move with any speed.

There had been rumours of wolves on the streets the previous day, driven into the relative shelter of the city's walls and overhanging roofs from the ever-more-exposed countryside. Fronsac had been reluctant to believe any of it, and Mani too, but they had both at least been curious, and curiosity had won out over winter boredom.

Perhaps there had been a flicker of something: white fur and feet on whiter snow, but the streets had been darkened by a gloomy sky, and Fronsac had been far too slow to see anything but Mani's smile.

Mani had been even more taciturn than usual on the journey back to Fronsac's apartments, even when Fronsac had caught up to him enough to elbow him good-naturedly in the ribs and demand to know what he had seen. And now, wiggling his toes in front of the fire as Fronsac struggles to remove damp boots, he's even more insufferable.

"There's no reason for wolves to come into the city," Fronsac says, more to himself than for Mani's benefit. Mani is rarely interested in scientific rationales. Things either are, or are not. Hypotheses and theories have little place in his worldview. "They have no affection for mankind. No easy food, unless they've taken a liking to stray cats or dogs, which I find unlikely. And shelter? There are natural shelters all over the country, everywhere you look. Mark my words, Mani. Wolves have not suddenly become soft."

Mani, as ever, is unimpressed. But he stands to remove his own cloak, throwing it down next to his boots as he strips off his shirt as well. Clothes, and particularly wet clothes, have no place on a body such as his.

And Fronsac... Fronsac disregards scientific principles, and his own pressing need to disrobe, simply watching Mani stretch out his soon naked body on the rug by the fire, golden flames lighting golden skin, playing over the tattoos that wind around his limbs, making them seem to slither and slide. If he were ever wet or cold, ever affected by the weather at all, he is dry now - dry and warm and completely at home, one lithe hand resting near the erection that has been growing ever since Fronsac started to watch, his eyes relentlessly on Fronsac himself.

"I suppose you think they came to see you, don't you?"

Mani laughs, probably more at Fronsac's attitude than his words, and Fronsac tears away his cloak with one movement, ripping off a button in the process. It's no matter. Tomorrow, or the next day, there will be a girl to clean and mend and stare at the court botanist and his noble savage. And if there's any reproachful stare from Mani in response to his carelessness, it's overthrown by simple sexual interest.

Fronsac removes his shirt with similar speed, and crouches down between Mani and the fire, the heat almost uncomfortable at his back. Mani moves his hand to stroke his own erection, lazy and curious, as if it were not quite part of himself. And Fronsac leans forward, his hands gripping Mani's biceps, kissing him as Mani's mouth curves into a smile against his lips.

"Fronsac," Mani says. It's a warning, and a jest. With one swift movement Fronsac cannot see, and can barely feel, he's suddenly on his back on the rug, Mani's body covering him, one hand pressing down on his sternum with enough force to keep him immobile, the other working loose the ties of his trousers. The wind knocked out of him, Fronsac can do nothing but watch, wait, and enjoy the warmth of Mani's skin against his.

"You cannot understand the spirit of a wolf," Mani says, his French quietly considered, as always. He sits up to straddle Fronsac's thighs, both of his hands working on Fronsac's cock as if he were a potter at work on some new and unusual masterpiece. "It is not science, Fronsac."

If only all of his arguments were in such pleasant circumstances as this one. Fronsac sighs happily - although he tries to inject as much frustration into the sentiment as he can - and pillows his head with his arms. "But we can all understand the spirit of a man, Mani. He needs food. Shelter. He wants a woman. Every animal needs those same things. Survival. Procreation."

"Will you..." Mani turns the word over in his mouth, considering it. " _procreate_?"

Fronsac is rather more interested in the stiff, dark length of Mani's cock just inches from his. "I'm not a normal man."

Mani leans in closer, his cock rubbing against Fronsac's, both trapped between hard, muscled bellies. His breath warm on Fronsac's face, his smiles again. "Wolves are not normal animals."

He's laughing as Fronsac huffs out a breath in frustration and wrestles him over again. And he must not resist, because this time Fronsac gets the better of him, sliding his body in between Mani's thighs, pressing his lips to those tattoos, the patterns he could trace in his sleep. "Relax," he says, knowing it's needless. He's always the one who is too tense, who takes things far too quickly.

Mani, limber and strong, rolls back and raises his hips, legs wrapped high around Fronsac's torso in an embrace tight as that of a snake. "Relax," he echoes. "Relax, Fronsac. I am here."

They must stray too close to the fire, because Fronsac's thigh and side and back are red and tender afterwards, hot to the touch even when they lie far enough from the flames that the carpet is cool beneath them. No one will disturb them tonight - they have the inconvenience and danger of the snow to thank for that. And the hour is early yet, even if Fronsac feels exhausted now, utterly drained by the deep, consuming sweetness of Mani's body. Soon, he knows, their knot of limbs will untangle and tangle again, as they find solace and warmth in each other once again. It is what they have done for years, and what they always will do.

"You came to the city for the sake of a lover," he says quietly, his fingers combing shining black hair from Mani's face. "Perhaps a wolf might do the same."

The flames dance over Mani's body, and he smiles.


End file.
